


The Bartender

by hazelhackley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bartenders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 02:22:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11887890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelhackley/pseuds/hazelhackley
Summary: Most bartending establishments realize enough not to use potions on their guests. Calley, a synesthetic bartender, uses her powers for good.





	The Bartender

**Author's Note:**

> WIP: I started this ages ago. I still want to get back to finishing it, so hopefully I'll get around to that soon.

Calley intertwined her fingers and cracked them away from her body, starting her shift, walking towards the waiting customer. “What’s your poison?” her voice come out in wisps of a grey-purple smoke to his eyes. Voices didn’t always come in smoke. Sometimes, their eyes changed color for a hot minute. More often, it appeared as an aura, surrounding them, like a shadow that only she could see.   
The young woman sighed as if recovering from a long day, though it was only ten past four in the afternoon on a Tuesday. “Campbell’s, neat.” Her voice came out in sparks of reds and coffee browns, trying to reconcile some inner turmoil. Calley knew her tab well. Her name was Molly, which she always tried not to cringe at, but her sparks gave her away. Usually, she just seemed angry, upset at something. After a while Calley was able to read between her lines. 

“Coming right up,” her voice was evenly measured and low, trying not to make a big deal, despite the fact that she was one of her favorites. She was by no means conventionally pretty, towering at six feet tall and heavily muscled. Calley always wondered if she played Quidditch professionally, as she had an amazing build for a Beater. She tipped well, was polite, and never questioned the fact that she always walked out the door mildly happier than she had walked in.   
With the dexterity of a seasoned barkeep, she grabbed the Campbell’s off the top shelf, pouring 2 ounces into a jigger, then into a rocks glass. Eying her stash of simple syrups, she looked through the labels. Most of the syrups were actually potions, but no customer knew this. Most assumed it was the liquor that made them seem to have a particularly terrible or pleasant evening. Of course they had their usual hand of normal syrups, but these were rarely used. The most frequent one used on regulars was a truth-telling serum that worked well as a citrus syrup. Calley tried to keep this one to a minimum to keep her on her toes.   
Deciding on her special mix of Anxiety Disappearance with Felix Felicis, she used a stopper to pour two barspoons worth of the potion into a rocks glass, stirred carefully and poured it into a frosted shot glass, placing it carefully on the counter in front of Molly. “One galleon, 5 sickles.” Molly pulled out a change purse and extracted the correct coins, placing four galleons on the counter.   
“Cheers, love.” Turning to the beaten up cash register, Calley hit the cash button withdrawing the drawer with a loud ka-CHUNK. She extracted the correct change and handed it back to Molly, who took a careful sip of the shot, having noticed Calley putting in a syrup. The young girl put up a hand, refusing her change. Calley smiled and put the sickles and knuts into the tip jar. Molly’s lips curled into a smile around the ridge of the shot glass, pleased.   
“Good, I take?”   
“Fantastic, Cal.”   
“Oi!” A middle-aged heavy set man called for her.   
“I’ll be right back.” She apologized, following where the money was.   
He stared at the Specials Board, words slowly being drawn out, still making his decision. “I’ll have a…Buzzer.”   
“Absolutely. Would you like to start a tab, with us sir.”   
“Aye, I would.” The man lifted his left eyebrow, staring her down.  
Calley fought back her severe need to roll her eyes back and turned her back to the man, starting to prep his drink. She didn’t have to think for more than three seconds to decide on the drink. Hands running wildly across the back bar, she splashed roughly an ounce of vodka into a frosted glass from the ice box, drained 6 ounces of a can of tomato juice in the glass, putting it back in the ice box after finishing it. She sandwiched this with Essence of Dickwad, and finished off with pulling down the tap of a lager until the glass filled. She stirred very lightly and cracked an egg over the whole thing. “Galleon, 10 sickles.”


End file.
